


Mit Dir Bin Ich Vollständig

by Arrestzelle



Series: Ich Will AU [3]
Category: Rammstein
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ich Will, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Snapshots
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-09
Updated: 2018-01-17
Packaged: 2019-03-02 17:45:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13323252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arrestzelle/pseuds/Arrestzelle
Summary: Till and Christoph heal each other with love.





	1. Gelassenheit

**Author's Note:**

> Title translation: "With you, I am complete" (Thank you, Lily!)
> 
> This is based on [my Ich Will AU](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12478600/chapters/28403224). To avoid congesting the main story with excess shippy fluff, it will be posted here. If I end up writing some for Paulchard, they will be getting their own fic, like this one. 
> 
> The entirety of this fic _has_ occurred within the main storyline, it just hadn't been shown (until now). And there will be more to come.

Rain is constant and comforting against the roof of Till's flat. He can hear it, speaking to him in soft murmurs as he stands in the kitchen. The window above the sink is opened slightly, just slightly, enough for Christoph to hear the pattering of the droplets against the sides of the building, against the balconies, against the road down below. The sound, the coolness, the atmosphere—it calms him. Contentment sits in him, as he languidly circles a spoon around and around in the murky heat of Till's tea.

A book waits for him from where he left it in the living room, perched atop Till's coffee table. Till himself waits for him, waits for the deliverance of the tea Christoph had promised him; not that Till had asked. Christoph had offered, with the desire to please, to make him utterly content like he himself feels.

And once he sets that used spoon down, cradles the cup in his hands, and steps back into the living room, that contentment only rises, once back in the presence of the man he loves. Panning his gaze up, he is surprised that said man is no longer sitting slouched against the armrest of the couch, book lazily clutched in a hand—he's now laying with his head against the pillows, book placed open against his chest, his broad hand resting atop it. He's snoring, and his eyes are closed.

He had been awfully tired today. Christoph isn't surprised. With a weak smile on his face, Christoph quietly paces up to the coffee table to set the tea down. Then he turns away, towards the closet. Approaching it, he draws it open and pulls out a knitted blanket. Shaking it out, he turns back to the living room and steps up beside the couch, where Till lays.

Till's face is relaxed. His full lips are slightly open, his eyes closed, eyelashes against his scarred cheeks. His brow is no longer furrowed, as it tends to be when he reads. Christoph watches him breathe as he gently drapes the blanket over his broad body. Till doesn't shift from the disturbance, and surprising Christoph, it doesn't wake him up, even slightly. Usually Till stirs from any touch.

Satisfied, Christoph sets his hands on his hips and just watches the other man sleep for a moment. His chest rises and falls with each slow, deep breath, his eyes roaming under closed eyelids, his snores overlapping the sound of the rainfall against the roof. Christoph smiles to himself. He leans over to grab his book from the coffee table, and then takes a quiet seat on the recliner draped in blankets—where he had sat before he rose to make Till's tea.

For maybe ten minutes, Christoph sits there with crossed legs (wearing articles of clothing he's taken to leaving at Till's place, for the sake of changing into after work; a pair of jeans and a comfortable sweater), reading the book he had borrowed from Till's collection. The sound of him flipping the pages is punctuated by Till's snoring. The tea perched on the coffee table is billowing with steam, contrasting with the chilly air of the living room. The tall lamp between the recliner and the couch is glowing softly, just enough for Christoph to comfortably read. This is what complete tranquility is like, right?

Peering over at Till's sleeping face, he's beginning to think it isn't. There is one other place he could be right now, that is more tranquil than this—sitting in a chair, reading a book while listening to his boyfriend snore, and sipping the tea made for said boyfriend. Instead, to find that perfect spot, Christoph bookmarks his place, quietly sets down the book, and rises from the recliner.

Pacing around the coffee table, he stands before Till with his arms loosely crossed, fingers curled against his biceps, into the soft sleeves of his sweater. He doesn't want to wake him, but that is unavoidable. Till won't mind.

Reaching out, Christoph gently draws back the blanket to reveal Till's body, his disheveled clothing (a plain shirt and the joggers he typically wears while sleeping), and the book that remains resting on his chest. Carefully, Christoph curls his fingers around the book and tries to slip it out from between his hand and chest without disturbing him. It proves to be a failure; Till twitches slightly, and then his eyes blearily blink open. Christoph gives him a weak, guilty smile, while he bookmarks Till's place and reaches back to set it on the coffee table.

“Sorry, I fell asleep,” Till mumbles in a quiet slur, raising his hand to rub at his heavy eyes. Christoph moves to take a seat beside him, on the edge of the couch cushion. He nods. Reaching out, he delicately strokes back the loose black locks from his forehead, earning a tired glance from green eyes.

“Can you make some room for me?” Christoph asks with a slight smile. Till nods and sluggishly scoots back as far as he is able, while angling his body to rest on his side. He holds his arms open. Christoph gladly accepts the invitation and moves to lay beside him. There really is no room; Till's couch isn't wide and they're both large men. But when they're both on their sides and Till wraps his arms around him to pull him against his chest, it works. Christoph rests his forehead against Till's collarbone, their legs tangling. Reaching out, Christoph blindly feels for the blanket. Finding it, he then draws it over both of them and tucks it around Till's back.

“You are so warm,” Christoph whispers, while winding his arm around Till's side. Till is big, warm, and soft—he's a lot like a teddy bear, actually. The thought has Christoph smiling. Till gently tucks his chin over his head; Christoph's short mohawk tickles his skin.

“And you are so cold,” Till murmurs, “But I'll warm you up, my love.”

Christoph hums with that smile lingering, and then closes his eyes. Till strokes his hand up and down his back. Christoph nuzzles closer and melts against him, completely and truly tranquil now.

For five minutes, they just lay there, tangled and warm and glowing with love, until the soothing sound of Till's breathing and the rainfall joined by that warmth lulls Christoph into a light sleep.

He had been awfully tired today, too.


	2. Der Regen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Till is a bad influence; they leave work early.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title translation: "The rain"

The office is at peace, for once. Paul and Richard are gone on an assignment for Tägtgren, so that leaves only Flake, Oliver, Christoph, and Till. Oliver is seated at the table, his assortment of firearms splayed across its surface; the one he's currently cleaning, a pistol, is taken apart, arranged in a symmetrical layout of its parts. His sniper rifle is waiting for the same treatment.

Till is sorting his files at his desk, while Christoph is seated at his own, reviewing the inventory for a recent delivery of weaponry—which is what usually Paul handles, deliveries and shipments, but he is unavailable at the moment. So, the responsibility falls on Christoph, just so it wouldn't become Till's. Which he is fine with; it definitely beats sitting around.

Meanwhile, Flake lounges on the sectional, legs crossed, with a book open in his hands. Classical music is flowing throughout the office from the stereo perched on the table by the TV—an unanimous decision initially suggested by Christoph.

To avoid conflict, Till had reluctantly assigned each member a day of the week to play whatever music they wished for. While it had caused conflict purely from Flake's impatient protests to Richard's and Paul's tastes in music, it resulted in _less_ conflict than what it previously produced—arguments that resulted in the stereo being thrown at the other person, every time. Considering it's Richard's day, and said man is absent, Flake doesn't have to wear his ear plugs or avoid the office entirely.

For two hours, the silence had been broken only by the music, the shuffling of paper, the snapping and clicking of Ollie deconstructing and reassembling his gun, and the occasional ringing of the phone that Till would answer with a gruff “ _Guten Tag_ ”. But after he had finished filing his papers, and the phone is quiet, Till sits at his desk for a full twenty seconds, the current length of his patience, before he rises with a creaking of the leather desk chair. Grabbing his cane, he places it against the floor, broad hand clutching at the silver skull. Panning his gaze over, he fixes it on Christoph.

The other man is leaning forward, elbow set against the desk, wide hand clutching at his head, fingers in his short mohawk. He's squinting at the paper in his other hand, a paper bearing rows of words and numbers that surely are becoming a blur of nonsense, considering he's been going through that stack of papers for the last hour. He started out with perfect posture, and now it appears like he's going to collapse into the desk at any moment.

Staring at him, Till finds the mundane, common image charming. Christoph's profile is shown to him considering their desks are aligned. Frustration decorates it; twisting his thin lips into a frown, knitting his eyebrows together, narrowing his eyes just slightly. Till admires his strong sloping nose, his pretty lips that are always the softest shade of pink, his prominent cheekbones, his long eyelashes. Recollections of kissing every one of those features flicker through his thoughts.

It's inappropriate to think about while at work, but when is Till ever appropriate, in his mind? Or rather, has this _work_ ever been _appropriate?_ So, with the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, he goes beyond just thinking about Christoph's endless beauty, to recalling how he fucked him into the carpet of his bedroom the previous night.

But he doesn't toy with the thought for long. Regardless, Christoph realizes Till has been standing there in silence for a full minute now, and pans his gaze over to meet his. He arches a brow, setting down the paper in his hand. Till gestures to the double doors leading out into the hallway with a tilt of his head. Then he turns and begins towards it with clicks of his cane—Oliver and Flake remain enveloped in their own separate tasks. In favor of disregarding this tedious chore, Christoph gladly gets up and follows him with a smooth stride, running his hands over the front of his suit coat.

Till holds the door open for him, a light smile on his full lips. Pacing past him with faint amusement in his eyes, Christoph dips his head sarcastically as he says lowly under his breath, “How kind of you, sir.”

“You are very welcome,” Till remarks with equal sarcasm, letting the door swing shut. He rests his hand on the small of Christoph's back. He leads him down the hallway, his cane tapping against the floor, joined by their footsteps and the distant sound of the lowered club music.

“Outside,” Till instructs, patting the other man on the lower back. Silently, Christoph begins towards the door leading outside and pushes it open. A gust of wind washes over him, which has his open suit coat billowing. He holds it open, and waits for Till to pace past him before he follows and lets it shut.

Now standing outside, hidden between the back of the building and a fence that separates the lots, Christoph squints at the sun that hangs directly in front of them—he checks his watch while Till leans against the wall and digs a hand into the inner pocket of his suit coat. It's windy today; Till's gelled mohawk is disturbed by the gusts, while their clothes ripple.

“It's getting late,” Christoph muses, smoothing the cuff of his shirt back over his watch. Till hums and flips open his cigarette case. Cane propped against the wall beside him, Till draws one out to place it between his lips. Meanwhile, Christoph withdraws the zippo lighter from his own inner pocket and flips it open. With a strike of his thumb, he ignites it, and holds it up to the tip of Till's cigarette. Till cups a hand around Christoph's, concealing the flame from the wind. He sucks in a few times, until the end glows with a striking red. Christoph returns the zippo to its original place with the faintest smile on his thin lips.

“We can go after you finish the inventory review,” Till says, plucking the cigarette from his lips, held between his fore and middle fingers. The wind sweeps away the smoke when he exhales it in a long, narrow stream. Christoph nods, sliding his hands into the pockets of his slacks. Till averts his narrowed gaze from the cloudy sky, to the other man. Christoph is staring at Till's bow tie. Till searches his slender face, noticing how his brow is furrowed.

Silently, Christoph steps closer to him. Till is motionless as he reaches up to unravel his bow tie. Without saying a word, Christoph smooths it out against his chest and then begins to retie it with dexterous twists of his wrists and fingers. Bringing the cigarette to his lips, Till watches his face wrinkle with concentration. A faint smile pulls at his lips while he takes a drag. It takes a moment, but eventually Christoph finishes—he adjusts the ends of the bow tie, until it's aligned and perfectly straight.

“It was crooked,” Christoph explains quietly, running his hands down over the sleek fabric of his button-up, across his chest. Till nods. Through lidded eyes, Till watches Christoph's gaze sweep down, from the redone bow tie, across his torso, to where his hands curl around his sides, under his open suit coat. Stepping closer, Christoph pans his blue eye back up to meet Till's.

They're close enough, Till can catch the aroma of the deep, rich cologne he sprayed on himself this morning—the same cologne Till had gotten him. It turns him on. That heat curls inside of him, as he watches Christoph, _smelling_ him. Additionally, he can practically smell the scent of desire radiating from him. He can sure as hell read it in his beautiful blue eye. He's eating him alive.

“You're being bold,” Till says lowly, briefly casting a glance towards the opposite property, where a liquor store sits. He sees a few people in the parking lot and inside the store, though they are all oblivious. Christoph removes his hands from Till's warm sides, to instead return them to his pockets. He gives Till a tight-lipped, faint smile, eyes narrowing from the sun and wind—the hunger fades away.

“I hadn't touched you in many hours,” Christoph remarks, “It's second-nature.”

“I didn't ask you to stop,” Till answers lowly, his voice twisting slightly with a tone of command. Christoph's strained smile becomes amused. He doesn't move to touch him again. Instead, he takes a slight step back. Till watches him, sees the wind rush through his suit coat, his slacks whipping around his legs.

“You didn't,” Christoph agrees. Till eyes him. _Now_  it's going to be a challenge. Till pinches the end of the cigarette between his forefinger and thumb, stifling the ignited tobacco. He drops the cigarette to the ground, which earns Christoph's brief glance; Till uses the opportunity to reach out and grab fistfuls of his lapels. As he spins them around to shove the smaller man against the wall, a grin flashes across Christoph's lips, exposing dimples and shark-like teeth. He immediately stifles it into a pursed smile when Till's intense eyes train on his face again, though he had caught it beforehand. Till is momentarily stunned by it—he didn't expect to see that rare smile show itself, during this insignificant exchange. It takes his breath away.

Recovering from his surprise, Till leans in, head angled, to crush their lips together. He can feel Christoph tense up under his hands, most assuredly due to his anxiety from doing this in public. But Till knows there is no one around; if he wasn't sure, he wouldn't have initiated this kiss.

Relief and enjoyment floods through Till when two broad hands raise to almost desperately clutch at his face. Christoph's lips are soft and warm under his own. They move against Till's with a passion, a firm overlapping that Till happily reciprocates with equal enthusiasm. Christoph's hands roam, curling around to cradle the back of his head, fingers splaying out across the scratchy, developing hair that Till will soon have to shave again.

It doesn't last long; Till bites his bottom lip between his teeth and then breaks away to begin pressing soft, loving kisses across Christoph's lips, his cheek, up along the side of his face. Then he draws back to meet his gaze. Christoph is panting, his face flushed and blue eye wide.

“I think I better go back in to finish that review,” Christoph breathes, which earns a low laugh from the other man. Till curls a hand around the back of his neck and pulls him in to plant a firm kiss to his forehead. He pulls away to search in his eye. A smile is on his rugged face, his crow's feet present.

“I'm sure it can wait,” Till says, eyes fond and lips in a slender grin, “It's not urgent paperwork.”

“You're a bad influence,” Christoph remarks with a tilt of his head and a faint, sly smile. Till chuckles and reaches past Christoph to grab his cane. And then he takes Christoph's hand in his own. Christoph lets the other man lead him towards the parking lot, emerging from between the back of the building and the fence. Their hands separate as soon as they spot another person. During the walk to Till's car, Christoph directs a coy smile his way, which Till appreciatively eats up.

He's so cute.

 

* * *

 

The rain arrives, after a day of development. It patters heavily against the window above Till's bed. Christoph has his head craned back into the pillows, to watch the droplets beat against the glass. Till is facing him, laying on his side, an elbow set against the bed with his head cradled in his hand. He reaches out to slip his other hand underneath the covers, to stroke over Christoph's bare stomach, across his soft abs. It earns a glance from the other man. Gazing at him with lidded eyes, Till admires his handsome face; it lacks any aggression or tension that it tends to bear. His blue eye is gentle, light, filled with only fondness and contentment. His lips are lifted into the slightest smile, his brow relaxed.

Till feels curled fingers touch his own stomach under the covers, as well. They stroke up and down slowly, against the softness of his belly, across warm, tan skin and dark hair. It's a nice sensation that has Till smiling affectionately. Christoph's eye flicks down to stare at that smile, his lips curling into its own smile. He attempts to repress it, though it only accentuates the apples of his cheeks and the kindness in his eye when it flicks back up to gaze into Till's.

With a blunt fingertip, Till traces the shapes of Christoph's abs. Christoph lets his smile slip through. It grows into a grin and bares his teeth slightly. Till admires it silently with adoration.

Although, once his finger bumps into his bellybutton, he pauses, contemplates, and then sticks his finger straight into it—Christoph jerks and looks at him with shock. Till's grin becomes broad and mischievous. Huffing, Christoph reaches under the covers to smack his hand away. Then, with embarrassment, eyes narrowing and lips pressing together to stifle his grin, he growls, “ _Till._ ”

Till begins to laugh lowly as he moves closer, with intention to lay himself on top of his lover. Christoph gives him a pointed look, though his hands raise almost reflexively to cup Till's broad sides. The sudden ringing of Till's phone, coming from within his slacks previously banished to the floor, has them both pausing. Following a sigh of exasperation, Till leans in to press a firm, fleeting kiss to his boyfriend's lips, which Christoph returns with his hand stroking up his side.

Begrudgingly, Till rises from the bed, earning a creaking of protest from the bed frame. Completely naked and feeling Christoph's stare on his ass, Till awkwardly paces out to his discarded pants and plants his hand against the nearby dresser for stability as he leans over to grab it.

Digging out his phone, he answers it and presses it to his ear while he leans against the dresser.

“Hello?”

“I apologize for interrupting your rolling about,” Flake begins flatly, “But a man is here, he wanted to speak with you. He claims it's urgent. Something about Recuenco.”

“It's not urgent, but I can speak with him, just so he leaves,” Till remarks, “Give him the phone.”

As Flake does so, Till turns back to Christoph and lowers the phone from his face as he says with an apologetic expression, “Sorry. It'll be a minute.”

“That's fine,” Christoph answers, and then moves to get out of bed as well. Bringing the phone back to his ear, Till keeps his gaze trained on Christoph's nude, lean body as he paces towards the duffel bag on the floor by the closet. Hypnotized by his beauty, Till continues staring at him as he kneels in front of it, unzipping it to begin digging in it for some clothes. Meanwhile, the other line rustles, before a timid voice speaks.

“Is this Lindemann?”

Till is silent for a moment, watching Christoph step into underwear, followed by a pair of black sweatpants that cling attractively to his long legs. He casts a chilling glance towards Till before he approaches the door of the bedroom, to take his leave—still rather shirtless. Clearing his throat, Till blinks and then says eloquently, “Uh, yes.”

 

After a brief ten minute discussion, which consisted only of reassurances and promises for a deal he had arranged with Recuenco (who only communicates through messengers, the pretentious prick), Till sets his phone on the dresser and retrieves his briefs from his slacks to step back into them, unsteadily.

The hallway and subsequently living room are both chilly when he paces out into them. He can hear the rapid beating of the rain against the roof, against the many windows that are lining the walls of his kitchen and living room. Glancing around, he's surprised to find Christoph in neither.

Limping through the living room, he pauses when he spots the other man standing out on his small balcony—a balcony cluttered with potted plants. Arching a brow, Till approaches the sliding door and draws it open with a scrape. It earns a glance over a shoulder from Christoph, who is leaning against the railing, arms propped against it. Standing underneath the safe boundaries of the ceiling, Till squints at him and asks, “What are you doing?”

“I wanted to feel the rain,” Christoph answers with a slight smile. Till nods. Admittedly, the image of water droplets clinging to his pale skin, rushing down along the planes of muscle to soak into the waistband of his sweatpants, is a pleasant one. The green sea of Till's plants surround him; it's more than a pleasant image—it's a beautiful one. Till is tempted to join him, but Christoph turns and steps up to him before he could.

“And I've had enough of it,” Christoph continues, his teeth clattering slightly. Till bursts out a laugh and steps aside, with a few following chuckles and an inviting sweep of his hand. Christoph shuffles in, dripping generously.

“I would run to get you a towel, but it's not exactly something I'm capable of,” Till says as he shuts the door again. He turns to him, to see him running his hands down over his face, wiping away rain. Christoph blinks a few times and then fixes his eye on Till's. He nods, smiling. Rivulets of water traverse down his arms, his chest, his neck. Till stares.

“Would you like to get in the shower with me?” Christoph asks, blinking away the water that clings to his eyelashes. A faint, sly smile pulls at Till's lips.

“No,” he begins, “But I would like to watch you take one.”

Christoph pauses, surprised by that answer. And then he laughs a little; a beautiful, seldom heard sound. He nods again and holds out a hand, a warm smile on his face. Till happily reaches out to take it. Christoph threads their fingers together—which seizes Till's heart, slightly—and then begins towards the hallway. Till gladly follows, with anticipation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someday I might write the shower scene, because I rather like the idea of Till watching him shower. But that would have to be posted over on the smutty fic, because that's exactly what it would become.
> 
> By the way, if any of you have fluffy scenarios you'd like to see come to life (whether it be Till/Christoph, or Paul/Richard), feel free to request it in the comments! If I like it enough, I will probably write it just for you.


	3. Blühen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just like a flower, love blossoms and flourishes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title translation: "flourish/bloom"

**1998**

 

As their sexual relationship developed over the last few months, Christoph has begun to realize that there are softer sides to his captain. He owns a collection of poetry, books filled with artwork and the study of art history, framed pictures of loved ones on certain surfaces. He can read for hours, without interruption, on his couch with tea or coffee. He likes to dance, regardless of his handicap, to 80's love songs. He enjoys rainy evenings. He likes to sleep in and spoon under the covers. He's gentle towards women, and often checks up on his subordinates. And he enjoys tending to plants; he has a small collection growing across the windowsills of his living room windows.

Miniature pots that contain calatheas, a crown of thorns, columnea, aloe, and succulents line the windows. Christoph has a slight interest in gardening himself, though he had never acted on it before. Finding this hobby in his newly found lover, his _dangerous leader_ , had been shocking, but somehow, it seems only fitting.

And now, Christoph stands at the windows, bathed in warm sunlight. Till is retrieving his watering can from under the sink with intention to water them; Christoph hears the faucet in the kitchen start, following a squeak of the handle. The water drums noisily against the bottom of the plastic watering can, heard from where Christoph stands. Curiously, he studies the blooming flowers of the crown of thorns plant, his arms loosely crossed. The window is open, casting the afternoon breeze into the living room, and across Christoph's skin.

“I'm thinking of expanding,” Till says suddenly, earning a glance from a calm blue eye. Pacing up to the windows, joining the other man, Till carries the watering can with a softer expression on his rugged face. There isn't a smile on his lips, but his eyes are warm when he meets Christoph's gaze. Glancing down, Christoph notices he had rolled the sleeves to his black shirt up.

“Add a couple bigger plants around the place,” Till goes on, as he steps up to Christoph and begins to feed water into the tiny plants, almost affectionately. One at a time, he moves down the line, with the other man watching. Christoph nods, tightening his crossed arms. He says nothing. Stepping aside, he gives Till the room to finish watering the succulents. Staring at his hands and exposed forearms, Christoph notices the water droplets on his skin, clinging to the dark hair that line his wrists and forearms.

“I like geraniums,” Christoph says quietly, earning a glance from green eyes—meeting them, Christoph pauses when he notices how the sunlight hits them. They're vibrant and a striking green, accompanied by a pale blue in some places. Till arches a brow and smiles, very faintly.

“They're pretty,” he agrees, turning back to the plants. Christoph hesitates, watching him gently inspect the calatheas and columnea with careful fingers. Clearing his throat, Christoph goes on, saying, “I've always wanted to raise flowers. But they're fragile things. I would obsess.”

“Well, tell me which flowers you like, and we can raise them together,” Till says, turning to him with a faintly amused expression on his face, “They can stay here. Don't worry, I won't demand rent.”

Searching in his eyes, Christoph's face doesn't shift. He averts his gaze, towards the view beyond Till's open window. He speaks lowly, with his eyes falling to settle on the freshly watered plants.

“That would be nice.”

 

* * *

 

**2000**

 

At eight in the morning, sunlight is just beginning to welcome itself into Till's kitchen. Christoph notices the rays of pale light spilling across the countertop, the floor, and himself when he tiredly paces into said kitchen, wearing only a pair of pyjama pants that hang loosely around his lean legs. Running his fingers down against his short mohawk, a bit disheveled from his previous sleeping, he approaches the coffeemaker waiting to be used like it tends to be this early in the morning.

As Christoph stands there, warmed under the sunlight and listening to the sounds of early morning traffic outside of Till's apartment—one larger and nicer than the last—he hears the sound of floorboards creaking, followed by a strained grunt indicating a certain someone is stretching. Christoph doesn't speak up, he just focuses on figuring out Till's outrageously complex coffeemaker for the thousandth time. This is why Till usually makes the coffee, while he starts up breakfast. Till's footsteps begin on the linoleum of the kitchen, straight towards the other man. Christoph's heart leaps when big, warm hands slide around his bare sides, to rest over his abs. A scratchy chin briefly perches atop his shoulder, and then warm, full lips are pressing a firm, intimate trail of kisses up over his neck, across his face, to his ear.

“Morning, beautiful,” Till murmurs in that deep, husky voice that tends to emerge only after sex, and in the morning right after waking up. Christoph peeks over at him, searches in his sleepy green eyes illuminated by the sunlight, and then angles his head to peck him sweetly on the lips—the spot of facial hair under his lip tickles his chin. Till returns it with a quick purse of his mouth, eyes lidded and lips in a subtle smile. Christoph turns back to the coffeemaker and mutters, “I'd prefer it if you downgraded and bought a coffeemaker I can comprehend.”

“It's not that complex, love.”

“My capacity for puzzle solving is very low in the morning.”

That earns a chuckle from Till, which has Christoph smiling. He peeks at Till again and then leans in to press a soft, tender kiss to his cheek, against rough facial hair. His tan skin is very warm to the touch. Christoph is tempted to feel it more, but the scratch of his developing beard was not pleasant.

“Go shave,” Christoph says, reaching down to gently grasp Till's wrists, “I nearly got rug burn from kissing you.”

Till hums, amused, and then leans heavily into the other man as he begins to pointedly rub his cheek against his bare shoulder and neck. Christoph violently jolts, a unpleasant shiver running up his back. With the hold he has on his wrist, Christoph immediately twists himself out of his embrace and then reaches up to firmly grasp Till by the jaw, fingers pressing into his cheeks. Till looks at him with alarmed eyes—he probably wasn't anticipating his face to be grabbed. Though his expression becomes amused. Christoph speaks lowly, looking deeply into his eyes.

“Go. Shave.”

Releasing Till's jaw, Christoph instead turns to open the fridge—he'll start breakfast meanwhile. He manages to dig out the carton of eggs before Till steps up behind him, winds one muscular arm around his midsection, and rests his lips against his shoulder again.

“It can wait,” he says lowly, “Don't try and get rid of me so soon, Christoph.”

“Do you plan to eat at any point or are you going to cling to me instead?”

“I'd rather eat you,” Till murmurs against his pale skin, slipping his hand down beyond his belly, sneaking past the waistband of his pyjama pants to grip him in warm fingers. Christoph huffs, with a heat rushing up into his cheeks.

“Not in the kitchen, you aren't,” he mutters, putting the eggs back in the fridge with exasperation, before shutting the door. Till laughs lowly and then kisses his neck softly. He speaks quietly, saying, “I'm sure the couch is more suitable.”

 

After another hour of unnecessary _distraction_ from Till, they both manage to cook breakfast, eat, and then clean up. Now, Till had left him to shower, while Christoph remains in the living room. He still has to get dressed himself, though the sunlight against his naked torso feels pleasant, so he doesn't rush to do so. Instead, he stands at the sliding door which leads out to Till's balcony, cluttered with pots and trays of plants. With crossed arms, Christoph soaks up the sunlight like a cat, admiring the assortment of Till's plants, and his colorful flowers. He decides the plants could “eat”, too.

Once the watering can is retrieved and filled, Christoph slides open the door with a scrape and steps out, barefooted. The sun is stronger now, and has him squinting. He shuts the door behind himself. First, he begins to water Till's larger potted plants—some are simple with broad, vibrant leaves, the others beautiful winding vines that curl around the bars of the balcony rails. The pots and plants themselves get progressively smaller as he works his way towards the center of the balcony, where a shelf sits, positioned against the railing. The shelf holds Christoph's flowers—violet geraniums, pastel hydrangea, multicolored petunias, and plum morning glory, with the vines hanging low.

Christoph is so enveloped with watering and admiring his flowers, he spends maybe ten minutes out in the sunlight before the door is drawn open, startling him. He looks over to see Till with his hair tied back, now wearing a black shirt with cargo pants. He's squinting past the sunlight to look at Christoph.

“Did you have any plans today?” he asks, stepping out onto the balcony to join the other man. Christoph turns to face him, which prompts Till's eyes to glance down. A faint smirk pulls at his lips.

“Like get dressed?”

“Yes, that is planned,” Christoph remarks, stepping closer to Till with an unamused look on his face. Till reaches out to gently grasp Christoph's hands—Christoph allows it, watching him bring them up to his face to press a few soft kisses to his fingers. Christoph realizes he actually shaved, leaving only the typical spot under his bottom lip.

“But I don't have any plans beyond that,” Christoph finishes. Till smiles warmly, a kind look on his rugged face that has Christoph staring—he's so handsome when he smiles. Till speaks lowly, lips moving against Christoph's fingers.

“It's Saturday,” he says, green eyes trained on Christoph's, “Let me take you out. Some remote restaurant. Just you and me.”

He lowers his hands from his face, to simply hold them, threading their fingers together. Till steps closer and plants a loving kiss against his forehead. Christoph manages a faint smile. He nods, squeezing Till's broad fingers.

“Okay.”

“I get to dress you up.”

When Christoph snorts, it has Till's smile widening to a grin, his crow's feet appearing. Christoph's smile grows as well, revealing dimples. He nods again.

“Alright, but I get to dress you up, too, then.”

“It's a deal.”

Till searches in Christoph's warm blue eye and then leans in, head angled, to kiss him softly. Christoph closes his eyes and returns it with a few loving purses of his lips. Contentment and love swells inside of him. Till's lips are full and warm against his own, tender and affectionate. Though it ends sooner than Christoph would've preferred. Till draws back and clears his throat, earning Christoph's gentle gaze. Staring down at Christoph's bare chest, Till says with a slight smirk, “Now stop giving our neighbors a show. You're _my_ pretty boy. Get dressed, love. I'll figure out where we'll eat.”

**Author's Note:**

> babypaulchen.tumblr.com


End file.
